


today is ours, it always has been

by sprx77



Series: Timbitat Quarantine Bingo [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Dry Humping, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Mission Fic, Porn with Feelings, Purple Prose, Quiet Sex, Semantics, Technically their third kiss but, Timbitat Quarantine Bingo, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: The slow press of lips, unworried. The kiss of teeth to his lower lip, enough to shock up his spine and leave his legs weak. Naruto presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.Sasuke belatedly realizes they haven’t been discovered.His brain kicks back into gear, one thought at a time. It’s slow going.Naruto’s hands are still holding him close. While he scrambles for purchase in anything like logic, he dips his head and presses his warm mouth to Sasuke’s throat. The kiss of teeth, enough to unmake him.
Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Series: Timbitat Quarantine Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708987
Comments: 35
Kudos: 339





	today is ours, it always has been

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ModernArt2012](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/gifts).



> This is for trope bingo but it's also for twelve year old me, who would have loved to read it.

It’s one of those missions that involve more sneaking than fighting. Sasuke should like them; any mission is an excuse to test his skills, hone them, to prove himself and get one step closer to his ultimate goal.

That’s not what usually happens.

No matter how focused he is on the end game, his only objective, no matter how many hours he spends working his body until sweat pours off him and his knuckles run red with blood, fingers cramped brutally around kunai until they won’t unclasp and new blisters rub the old—

Somehow, despite his furiously burning motivation, whenever he’s actually on the mission, what he wants—needs, like _air_ , any other time—fades away, replaced with the minutiae of the mission itself, the task put before them by the client and the village, the enemies that cross his path.

It makes him a good shinobi, he tries to remember. It makes him _better_. The ability to focus on what he needs to at any given time, the ruthless skill at taking out any _lesser_ obstacle—

It’s a lie.

It’s a _lie_ because he’s not honing his skills when he devotes his entire being to a mission, when all thoughts of _that man_ disappear completely; it’s not focus or talent or anything to do with being a shinobi. It’s life and distractions and somehow, some _way_ , _always_ —

“ _Damn it_.” Naruto breathes right into his ear, the words more vibrations in the air than sound. He’s too close to see it but he imagines the expression perfectly, can almost convince himself he feels the wrinkles in Naruto’s brow pressed to his.

His entire expression screws up with frustration at every minor inconvenience. It’s not hard to imagine.

Sasuke’s life is a joke.

It’s one of those missions where they’re _supposed_ to be sneaking instead of fighting, but they’re about to ruin that too, because they were meant to get in and out with sharingan-memorized information from certain documents—no one the wiser—while Sakura distracted the guards out front of the compound.

Instead voices had drawn close, and Sasuke’s fingers had closed around Naruto’s ugly lapel and drawn him swiftly into the very small standing wardrobe in the room.

Naruto had protested, thankfully not loudly—he despaired, but the idiot often had better senses than him regarding this kind of thing, with all his juvenile antics—and even that quieted once Sasuke pressed his palm, thumb down, against Naruto’s mouth and his entire body against the rest of him.

To his credit, Naruto’s hands immediately moved to catch the door. They’d glided into it like shadows and with tan hands stopping the door before it can make a single sound, gentling to a close, both hold their breath as they wait to see—

Sasuke has to shuffle forward the tiniest inch that he really doesn’t have available, pressing into Naruto’s ribs like a kunai, angling until they’re tighter than puzzle pieces, but it’s enough.

The door had shut all the way, flimsy at Sasuke’s back. If he breathed too strongly it would jiggle; it’s only a cabinet door, no latch or knob to speak of.

They’d been here tense for long seconds, waiting. When the lord sits down at his desk with a sigh instead of leaving like they’d hoped, Naruto’s breath fans out against his ear in the curse. The hand that had fallen awkward and limp between their faces presses firmly back into Naruto’s mouth. Obviously he couldn’t be trusted.

_Shut up_ , Sasuke tries to say with his eyes, but of course Naruto is too close to see. His lips are rough against Sasuke’s palm; Sasuke’s own knuckles press uncomfortably into his nose. He doesn’t dare shuffle yet.

His heart thuds in its bone prison, rapid staccato. It should be audible, it’s so loud in his ears, but Naruto’s right there and Sasuke can’t hear his so he knows it’s fine. Sasuke’s a shinobi, he won’t _panic_ —but adrenaline leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat.

They can’t fail this mission.

He listens hard, half-expecting to hear Naruto’s frantic breathing—he’s barely a shinobi and _prone_ to displays of emotion like panic and frustration and tears and all that rot—but the other ninja’s breath is warm and calm against his skin, measured.

Much calmer than Sasuke’s, and he’s kind of pissed about that actually—he latches onto the thought with both hands, trying to calm his thudding pulse with familiar irritation.

Ever so slowly Naruto’s hands fall from the door they’d caught to the much safer area on either side of Sasuke. Sasuke counts back from twenty—or tries to, at least; every shuffle of the man behind his desk makes him freeze, utterly still and stiff and losing count entirely.

Naruto’s thumb presses into his hip bone, warm through all his layers. No—it’s wormed its way under his shirt and armor, pressing skin-hot into the skin. Sasuke’s attention zeroes in on it, the anger-irritation-frustration whipping through him in a well-worn path.

Sasuke likes to think he’s slow to rouse, calm and calculated, but he’s reacted to Naruto so many times that doing it now is like a cracked whip; once the first motion’s made, it’s all gravity and physics, and he’s merely the sound following through.

The grooves for this are etched deep and for the first time he’s grateful how easy it is, reacting to Naruto; he swallows the irritation itching his bones, un-narrows his eyes, and breathes.

_Thank you_ , he would never say—is still, in fact, scowling just as reflexively—yet he can imagine Naruto’s smug look as his pulse evens out.

The thumb strokes his hip bone, almost comforting, and Sasuke has to tilt his head back a little not to snort. Naruto’s lips move against his palm, like he’s trying to say something without sound.

It obviously doesn’t work.

Naruto’s other hand wiggles slowly, likely trying to get comfortable; he can’t move too much or too obviously and he frustration shows. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the barest change, and Sasuke jerks into perfect stillness when Naruto’s knuckle hits the door firmly enough to almost jostle it.

There’s no sound but Sasuke felt the tenseness in Naruto’s bicep against his ribs as flesh caught wood on accident.

_Idiot!_ Sasuke thinks with vitriol, hoping if he glares loud enough Naruto will _feel_ it, the same way Sasuke can feel Naruto’s nonverbal wince.

Very carefully—obviously more careful than the blonde is _capable_ of being—Sasuke bullies his way into Naruto’s space. They were standing close before, pressed outline to outline, but now Sasuke keeps his feet still and leans with his hips until his upper body is _leaning_ on Naruto’s torso and his own forearm. He ends up with his nose pressed into the crook of his own elbow, forehead to edge of forearm, which is thankfully propped up on Naruto’s shoulder. They’re almost cheek to cheek.

The door had slowly eased away from Sasuke’s back and Naruto finally gets with the program, waiting over five heartbeats before his hand slides into the freed space.

His warm hand settles tentatively at the small of Sasuke’s back, just below the straps of his armor, and that’s when Sasuke realizes he’s made a terrible mistake.

His life is a joke and he’s made a _horrible mistake_.

It zings through him like lightning, a half-shudder he suppresses ruthlessly. He clamps his mouth shut on what would be a half-strangled snarl of frustration.

No noise escapes but Naruto feels his shiver, the hard clench of his jaw.

Confusion radiates from him, head turning until Sasuke can feel his lashes blinking. Sasuke buries his face further into his arm and tries to pretend he can’t feel Naruto’s whole armed wrapped around him, hand firm on his hip, both points of contact and the body he’s pressed into hot like burning.

How can anyone be so warm through all those layers!?

The air in the wardrobe is entirely too hot from their breath, from Naruto’s body heat, from the heat on Sasuke’s cheeks thankfully hidden in the bend of his elbow.

He licks his suddenly dry lips and his hips inch forward on _accident_.

It’s the tiniest shift, easily mistaken for putting his weight more firmly on one leg, and yet.

Sasuke’s face burns with humiliation.

He considers bursting out of the closet and killing their mark.

He considers shoving backwards from Naruto, scrambling away like a clumsy idiot, and letting the mark’s guards kill _him_.

Anything is preferable so long as he isn’t hyperaware of the long line of Naruto’s body, already supporting half his weight.

He can feel Naruto breathing under him, the rise and fall of his chest lifting Sasuke’s, and it feels _obscene._

He’s so _warm_.

Part of him is convinced he’s never felt anything like this deep-sinking body heat, never been warmer than the small of his back under Naruto’s big hand, the veritable _brand_ of his hip under the other.

Last night’s camp fire, the katon in his lungs, Fire’s famous boiling summers—

Nothing has anything on Naruto, right here right now, the _warmth_ of him skating across Sasuke’s goosebumps and burying itself under his skin. He wants to shake, to squirm, to _leave_. Nobody ever touches him, nobody would _dare_ , but this isn’t the glancing hits or even the shifting rolling weight when he’s pinned briefly in a spar.

This is something else entirely and he shakes through it despite his best efforts, horribly aware of the way Naruto stiffens unnaturally under him. He can’t defend himself, can’t play it off, can’t even offer something shiny as a distraction for the world’s most perceptively oblivious idiot.

_Why is it always him!?_

Sasuke doesn’t think of himself as particularly skin hungry, usually would quite literally rather pitch himself off a cliff than endure someone’s misguided attempts to interact with him verbally, much less _physically_ , and yet.

And yet.

The hand at his back raises up just slightly, obviously out of some concern or question, but before Naruto can do anything else--

He’s almost forgotten about their mission when the lord’s chair scrapes loudly. They both freeze.

Naruto’s breath stops against his palm. His hand comes back down onto Sasuke, pulling him closer from the door almost on instinct, fingers splayed and _pressing_.

Sasuke clenches his eyes shut, tightens his jaw.

They wait but the man wasn’t getting up, more’s the pity. Sasuke wishes this was an assassination instead, though Team Seven rarely gets anything that’s meant to be a _quiet_ kill—upon contact, their marks tend to reveal hitherto unknown deals with evil spirits, experimental drugs that mimic Akimichi body expansion, and other otherwise-unbelievable nonsense that makes their fights somehow visible from leagues away.

Sasuke would prefer a nonsensical battle against a giant fire-breathing monster right now.

His nose shifts, chin coming to rest on Naruto’s shoulder, and it’s somehow one hundred thousand degrees even through his clothing.

Sasuke wants to _scream_.

But he can’t.

He holds himself rigid like iron until his spine aches, and then some; holds himself as still as he fucking can—until Naruto, who knows how confused, brings his teeth unconsciously into his bottom lip.

They graze the tender meat of Sasuke’s palm and then he’s not holding himself stiffly at all; he is, in fact, miserably rocking his hips against Naruto’s strong, _wide_ thigh with helpless, tiny motions. It’s all he can do to pant silently into his arm, hand trembling against Naruto’s lips.

A Naruto who has frozen instantly against him.

Sasuke tries to stop. He leans hard into his own horror and embarrassment, but his half-hard dick says _this is the best thing ever_ and it doesn’t matter at all that the motions are barely there, that it’s a twitch so subtle he’s had muscle cramps with a bigger spasm.

With them so close, with the oppressive quiet, with literally nothing else to focus on: Naruto feels every tiny tremor.

The hand on his hip trembles. Sasuke braces for the worst, though he’s not sure what Naruto could possibly do here—twist his features up in disgust, maybe, or pinch the shit out of him—

Or maybe something much more violent, since Naruto’s hardly known for his _restraint_ and—

The lightened grip returns full force, and Naruto’s thumb digs into the sensitive skin at the vee of his hips.

Very, very purposefully, the grip pushes him not minutely away but urges him _closer_. Naruto twists his neck until the lips pressed against the heel of his palm feel like a kiss.

Sasuke tries to choke and only the dryness of his throat prevents him. He shivers instead.

Somehow Naruto is not just loosely wrapped around him but _holding him close_.

That—

Sasuke is nowhere near equipped to deal with all the chemicals his brain is making, the dubious things other people call emotions. He ignores every bit of it, all the _feelings_ threatening to beat his heart out of his chest, and chases the fire licking down his spine like a lifeline.

He rocks more firmly, more purposefully, against Naruto’s thigh, now pressed—pressed, with intent behind it—into him, and he can almost feel the heartbeat in Naruto’s femoral artery, can almost feel the way his own thigh brushes the tightness in the other’s pants, the reciprocation, the unsaid words as loud as the sweat building at Naruto’s nape.

Naruto’s hand tightens on his hip, a question, a plea—

His lips mouth into Sasuke’s hand, sounding like ‘please’, but—

Sasuke doesn’t remove his hand from Naruto’s mouth. He _can’t_. He can’t hear it, can’t deal, can’t fucking cope with whatever Naruto might say. It’d make it real, something beyond the physical animal of his body—of Naruto’s—something fragile and impossible and ill-advised leaping like a lion from Naruto’s lips and their skin, roaring a truth it can’t take back—

So he doesn’t let it, clamps even tighter around Naruto’s mouth, and chases willful ignorance in the fulfilling press of their bodies.

Naruto bares teeth into his hand, nails briefly digging into his skin. He forms a growl with only air, the tremor in his throat, that Sasuke can safely ignore. He sinks into it, the safety, the mutual pleasure, the mutual wordless _frustration_ with this and life and each other, but mostly this.

He plants his feet on either side of Naruto’s leg and _rubs_ , in long stretches that drag his sensitive cockhead forcefully into all his layers and the unyielding muscle of Naruto’s thigh beyond, the height of it taking him up on his toes and within sight of the peaks of pleasure before rolling back down, only to do it again and again, getting higher each time.

Sweat beads on his brow, his spine, between his legs. He holds his breath for every tortuous stroke and falls back to earth panting silently. It’s fine, it’s embarrassing, it’s physical and he never would have thought a lithe body firm against his was something that could affect him so much—

Maybe he was a little skin hungry if _Naruto_ of all people could do this to him with a little physical closeness—

_Lie, lie, lie_.

His castle of desperate half-formed excuses collapsed like so much glass when Naruto’s mouth closed against him, lips snapping shut as if in acceptance. He breathed in, shaky, and Sasuke thought he’d won.

And he was wrong.

Glass lies hit the ocean of denial and left tell-tale ripples across his conscious thoughts, because Naruto twisted once more to press a gentle kiss against his fingertips. His cheek nuzzled into Sasuke’s thumb, soft and acquiescing, and it was that willingness to go along with the charade that dispersed it like leaves on the wind.

That _okay, fine, I’ll play along_ —

And yes, it was a game; it was a lie, and Sasuke was so furious at the curtain yanked back, at the pretty falsehood revealed, and he wanted to be _furious—_

The lion laying down to wait was still a lion and yes, okay, it was obvious in _hindsight_.

_Let me live in the lie_ , he thought, and Naruto said, _Let me live with you in your_ body _, instead, have you tried that?_

And no, of course, he hadn’t, but he does now.

Naruto doesn’t give him a chance to spin reeling from the unravelling kiss, the gentleness, the acceptance that in two seconds destroys his foundation as a—

The hot hand at his back pulls inwards, stopping at Sasuke’s other hip, the one that hadn’t felt cold in comparison until that cold is suddenly gone.

All the thoughts are mercifully, blissfully burned out of his head.

_(Okay, fine, I’ll play along_ —except it was too late, wasn’t it?)

Sasuke leaned into the fiction, filling it with want to make it something like real. Real for now, maybe.

Too much, too complicated.

Naruto held him by the hips and pulled him closer and Sasuke became an idiot sandwich toasted between them.

Some part of him was shaking apart, floating ten miles above them, unable and unwilling to be a part of a Sasuke that lived in a reality where Naruto veritably picked him up by the hips and his best and first response was to shiver into it, _grinding_ hard on the thigh that pressed bold between his.

He bit his lip against the _ah ah ah_ s that wanted to spill out in time with the clenching of his groin muscles, little instinctive flurries of sound. He wanted to press his knees together, wanted to get away, wanted to never leave this; wanted it to never end.

Naruto _grinded back_ briefly, heralding a burst of pleasure that exploded like fireworks behind Sasuke’s eyes. He pressed his tongue hard to the roof of his mouth, determined to remain quiet even if he couldn’t quite grasp the reason why that was so important.

Naruto’s lips parted under his fingers, soft and pink and chapped, and he drug his sensitive creases and fingertips over them just to feel it. He needed air and so he lifted his head, surprised to see the slightly lighter gray around them, surprised to see Naruto’s eyes shine blue, his whites clear, his skin tan—

Light enough inside the cabinet for his sharingan to see clearly, even this close, and Sasuke couldn’t stand the look on Naruto’s face, the face he made for Sasuke riding his thigh and clenching his free hand in his orange top, couldn’t bear the look in his eyes as Sasuke’s thumb caught gently over his bottom lip, but.

He couldn’t bear to look away either.

One of them leaned in and Sasuke kissed him, hand sliding back so that his fingers tangled in blonde hair and his thumb skirted across a whisker mark, tracing it idly over and over again.

It was soft and wet and short and maddening, the rasp of Naruto’s careful lips against his, the fire-stoking intensity of it before Sasuke had to pull back to breathe against his mouth instead. Naruto’s bottom lip glinted wet in the half-light and that observation hit right as Naruto’s hands pulled him in for another delicious grind. He fought for air and for silence; Naruto rubbed whiskered cheek rough against his, half a nuzzle, and kissed him mercifully quiet.

If he’d lost his mind and thought about it at all—or maybe regained his mind enough to _think_ at all—he’d have expected Naruto to taste like _please_.

Instead the kiss says _thank you_ , slow and unhurried; it says _this, this, this_ on time with his steady beating heart, as if he has nowhere to be and his blue eyes close languid, the kiss moving gently, _leisurely,_ pleased.

Naruto takes the kiss like a gift and it’s praise, however unspoken; it’s unexpected, however beloved; and it drenches the fire in a sweet mouthful of incendiary oil.

Sasuke’s whole body burns.

When he comes out on the other side of it, both hands gripping Naruto’s forearms tight, their bodies pressed close and sweaty and perfect, he is startled by a rough breathy laugh.

Panic slices through the afterglow, a shinobi picking his annihilated thoughts out of the wind.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sasuke hisses. “Usurat—”

Naruto kisses him, hot and open-mouthed.

It eats away his—whatever he was feeling. He. Hmm.

The slow press of lips, unworried. The kiss of teeth to his lower lip, enough to shock up his spine and leave his legs weak. Naruto presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Sasuke belatedly realizes they haven’t been discovered.

His brain kicks back into gear, one thought at a time. It’s slow going.

Naruto’s hands are still holding him close. While he scrambles for purchase in anything like logic, he dips his head and presses his warm mouth to Sasuke’s throat. The kiss of teeth, enough to unmake him.

Seconds, days, eternities later, after he has shaken apart and been put back together once more, Naruto holds up his entire weight.

They haven’t moved—of course they haven’t—beyond the furtive slip of hands and thrusting hips.

Sasuke squints at him, trying to dredge up some of that oh-so-familiar animosity.

He scrapes the bottom of the barrel, spent in more ways than one.

“You put up a seal.”

Naruto hums in agreement, scraping stubble against a bruise sucked into the thin skin at his nape. Sasuke swats at him, shivering out of memory rather than invitation. Probably.

“I put up a seal.” Naruto’s voice is dim in the grey light, raspy and smug. Sasuke can feel the proud twist of his lips.

“Satisfied?” He asks, twining hands through damp gold strands, living in the way Naruto’s blue eyes darken with interest.

“Of you?” Hands slip somehow through the back of his fatigues, slipping down over bare skin to cup his ass. His cock gives a weak spurt into the abject mess they’ve already made together.

Sometime later—much later, when the lord has left and they can resume their mission, and long minutes after that when they finally _do_ —Sasuke realizes he never answered the question.

It’s different in the trees again, with the night fading around them; with open air an unexpected pleasure, after so long confined, with the dawn still mimicking twilight and the light not yet breaking the horizon.

“You never said.” He asks, like it’s not putting his head into the jaws of the lion. His voice doesn’t shake. It carries the facsimile of indifference, even, with the ease of long practice. “Satisfied?”

He swallows, but he needn’t have bothered. Asking. Nor worrying, to begin with.

Naruto sees through the bullshit with the ease of longer practice, turning toward him with something in his face that banishes the question. They’re on the same branch, waiting for regroup—the forest bugs begin their morning buzzing, the hour far past their initial estimate, but Team Seven has fail-safes within fail-safes, rendezvous points stretched out days into the future.

They can be a little later still.

“With you?”

It’s a different answer, nuance skirting into a different question entirely. It changes _have you had enough_ to—

‘Is this…?’

And perhaps Sasuke will never be ready for _that_ answer, but he needn’t be; the question says everything he needs to know, Naruto answering it in the only way that matters, shoulder bumping his in the treetop.

Sasuke looks, because he has never been able to resist looking, and the answer is resplendent, immediate, hard on the tail of the lilting rhetorical.

He smiles, and Sasuke thinks: Ah, there’s the sun.

The question echoes in his ears, an answer ringing lightheaded.

_With you?_

Sasuke kisses him, leaning in slow with the nerves/fear/everything he’s steadily banishing, and it tastes like _always_.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> This fills "Accidental Stimulation" for my Timbitat Quarantine Bingo card. If you wanna play the bingo (any fandom, any ship) you can find more info and links to card makers [on the tumblr post about it.](https://definitelynotaminion.tumblr.com/post/614444110786461696/definitelynotaminion-im-gonna-do-a-trope-bingo)
> 
> This was a lot of fun. I'm super stoked to revisit the OG otp. I wrote the fic twelve year old me wanted to read! But with a lot more purple prose.
> 
> It's rare that I adore my own writing this much, but when it's these two... They're just a delight to write about.


End file.
